Assassin Drabbles
by Saoirse Laochra
Summary: A series of short drabbles about the three assassins -The Soldier, The Widow, and the Hawk. Their relationship isn't normal. Because nothing about them is normal. But sometimes... That's okay.


"Hydra's was obviously far more effective."

Steve stopped short, hand half frozen above the door knob to the gym, heart beating madly at Bucky's words.

"Please. Zola's programming left you with minimal autonomous thought –if any, outside of mission parameters," Natasha's voice was dismissive, moments before Steve heard a soft 'oomph' that meant one or the other of the two had hit the mat.

Bucky scoffed loudly, and Steve could faintly hear the whirring of his metal arm as he spoke. "But that autonomy lead to the death or defection of all the Widows within thirty years. Hydra more than _doubled_ that with me alone."

He could hear the concession in Natasha's voice, as she said, "Point. But consider that _twenty-eight_ Widows went active, and stayed active for those thirty years. You were the only Soldier; they've never been able to duplicate your programming."

Steve was shocked at the smugness in Bucky's voice.

"Because one was all they needed. Not only is my kill count far higher, but my target list was a hell of a lot more impressive."

"But you were only good for sniper assassinations," Natasha countered. "The Widows could infiltrate, gather intel, poison, and other subtle means."

"I was _very_ good at gathering intel."

There's a feral tone to Bucky's voice that Steve had never heard before; an edge that made him sick to his stomach when he realized the tone was almost pleased.

"And your targets were broken –and typically dead –husks afterwards," Natasha said disdainfully. "Half the time my targets didn't even know I had the information. I could milk a source for months before the kill."

"I didn't need months."

"What about asset life quality?"

Bucky's grunt –and the resounding yelp of pain from Natasha –was the only response he gave.

"You… can't even try to argue there," Natasha's voice was pained, and a bit breathless.

"The parameters of our programming had negligible differences." Bucky's voice was tight, like a piano wire ready to snap. "Physical correction and discipline, psychological breakdowns, mental and physical modification…" His voice trailed off slowly, and there was a full minute of silence before Natasha spoke again.

"So you're going to tell me disciplinary actions –hell, even what they did for fun –was the same?"

Steve could hear the challenge in Natasha's voice, daring the Soldier to lie to her. When she got no response, she added, "Don't forget, James: I watched your 'programming parameters'."

Even from outside the room, Steve could feel the chill settling in as Bucky spoke.

"And I _participated_ in yours, Natalia."

The silence stretched on, with Steve not daring to even breath. He was getting ready to walk away, when he heard Natasha speak again.

"And I've never blamed you for it."

* * *

Tony watched the three assassins playing cards, feeling a flash of jealousy at their easy camaraderie, and a hint of unease at their relaxed manner.

Barnes, Natasha, and Clint –The Soldier, The Widow, and The Archer –sat around the kitchen island, balancing their chairs on two legs, as they played a complicated Russian game called 'Durak', something like a cross between War, Garbage, and maybe Magic, if Tony had to guess. Apparently the two-leg-chair-balance thing was their own little added rule, along with a few other variations he'd noticed over the past few weeks.

"Taiwan. May, 1997," Clint said, slapping a card down on the table, and glancing at Natasha.

She frowned for a moment, looking at her cards, before glancing back up at Clint. "David Chen? Businessman from Singapore. Strong supporter of giving Singapore back to China. Pass." At Clint's unhappy nod, she slapped a card down, and looked over at Bucky. "United Arab Emirates, Abu Dhabi. November, 1987."

Barnes thought for a moment, picking up another chair leg so he was only balancing on one, before slapping the leg back down with a sharp _clack_. "Joshua Hargrove. American ex-pat. Working as a bodyguard. Pass." He flopped a card down casually, before turning his attention to Clint with a sharp smile. "Dallas. November, 1963."

All four of Clint's chair legs came down, hard enough that Tony briefly thought he might have to replace the chair. Clint's face held an equal part of shock, awe, and disbelief.

"You're out, Clint," Natasha said, rolling her eyes with a smile.

"No way," Clint said, pointing a finger at Barnes, before turning his attention back to Natasha. "There's _no way_ that was him."

Natasha shrugged. "We were partners at the time, Clint; I can tell you it most certainly was him." She turned towards Barnes, her face searching for a moment, before it went back to its carefully neutral expression. "I thought they wiped that from you –permanently."

It was Barnes turn to shrug, reaching up with his flesh hand to tuck an errant piece of hair behind his ear. "Obviously not," He said, his voice nonchalant, but over his cameras, Tony could detect the small twitch in his hand as he grabbed at his beer.

And Natasha had been his partner? According to all the information Tony had been able to dig up on her –which he'd thought was fairly inclusive, seeing as how she'd leaked S.H.I.E.L.D.'s entire database online –she was born in 1984.

He was very careful to keep his brain from actually absorbing the information he'd just heard. That the quiet, nice guy who helped Pepper carry in the groceries was the one who...

No. Nope. No, no, not his problem.

* * *

Pepper squeaked a little as she bumped into Natasha.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," She said quickly, trying to keep her voice quiet as she bent over and started picking up the armload of papers she'd dropped.

Natasha gave her that blank smile she was so famous for as she knelt down and began helping. "No, it was my fault. What're you doing up here this late?"

Pepper chuckled as she stood up, accepting the papers from Natasha gratefully. "Trying to ferret out where Tony's hiding." At Natasha's raised eyebrows, she explained. "It's the end of the month."

Natasha nodded instantly. Everyone knew that bills, contracts, negotiations, payroll, and the budget paperwork were due at the end of the month. Just like they knew that Tony avoided the work like the plague.

"What're you doing up here? Isn't this…" Pepper's free hand shot up to her mouth, as she felt her cheeks turning red from embarrassment. "Ohmygosh, Nat, I'm sorry. I didn't… I mean…" It had occurred to her at that moment that Natasha's room was on the next floor up, along with Steve, Rhodes, and Sam; this floor held Clint, Maria Hill, Sharon Carter, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. ex-pats.

Nat smiled again. "It's fine, Pepper. While we might not broadcast it, we don't hide it either," She said casually. "I'll help you find Stark," She added, grabbing half the paperwork back out of Pepper's hands as she started trailing back out towards the main rooms.

"Thank you. But I, uh… I thought Clint was… I mean he has…" Pepper trailed off, mentally smacking herself for her inability to leave anything alone.

Natasha's smile this time was smaller, but more real. "Yes, he's married. Yes, he has kids. Yes, Laura knows."

"And… she's… okay with it?" Pepper asked timidly.

Natasha shrugged. "Laura knows that there's certain things she can't do for Clint. She knows I can. What Clint and I do… It's what allows him to go home and be a family man three weeks out of the month." The corners of her mouth turned up a bit as she added, "Laura's very… _nice_."

Pepper could feel her cheeks turning red again as her mind started filling in the blanks. After all, there were only so many things they could be doing at two in the morning in Clint's bedroom, and there were only so many things to infer from there.

"And… Sgt. Barnes?"

Natasha's smile went blank again. "Sgt. Barnes and I have a… similar relationship and deal in place. We can do things for –and to –each other that other people can't."

"Or that you can only do with people you trust."

At Natasha's coolly appraising look, Pepper wished she had kept her mouth shut.

"That's right. There's not too many people we trust. Or too many people who can withstand the amount of physical abuse we can."

"But…"

"I think you'll find Stark hiding down in the weight room," Natasha said suddenly, giving her the blank smile again. "Have a nice evening, Pepper."

* * *

Thor watched the three assassins from the spectator stands –although why, exactly, a gym would need spectator stands still escaped his grasp.

At the moment, all three of them were standing still. So still, in fact, that they could have been as lifeless as some of the statues on Asgard.

"Ten dollars says Natasha moves first."

Thor glanced down at the people in the rows closest to the gym mat. There were always a few people in the stands when The Avengers practiced, but he'd noticed that it seemed like far more people were there whenever the Soldier, the Hawk, and the Widow practiced.

While Thor himself occasionally practiced with the other Avengers on the mats, he'd never practiced with these three. Even as he watched, Natasha moved first, leaping towards Barton with a well-placed flying kick, that he easily ducked, returning with a kick to the back of the knee himself, moments before Sgt. Barnes' flesh fist connected with Barton's ribcage.

These three… They didn't 'practice' as Thor understood the word. He'd practiced with everyone else in the towers –from the Avengers themselves, down to the guards who occasionally showed up –but the three assassins were…

Brutal.

He winced in sympathy as he heard Sgt. Barnes shoulder dislocate with a loud 'pop', moments before Natasha threw him across the mat.

As far as he could tell, the only concession to non-injury these three made were no weapons, and Sgt. Barnes never used the full power of his non-flesh arm –a necessary concession, as Thor had received a blow once from that arm, and it had been enough to make him hesitant to repeat the experience.

Natasha was out now –Thor had to stop himself from moving to where she lay on the edge of the mat, her lips returning to their normal shade as soon as Barton's chokehold had been released. He leaned forward a bit as the two remaining combatants sized each other up.

Barton faked going left, but Sgt. Barnes countered with an uppercut to the jaw that had to make the archer see stars. But apparently, that had been part of the plan, as his own arms lashed out, and yanked the soldier over him, and onto the mat.

With that, Thor stood, and began making his way out of the gymnasium. He had no need –or desire –to watch the bloodbath that was sure to follow.

His understanding of humans might have been a bit… strained, he'd be the first to admit. But the three assassins all seemed to be very good friends off of the mats. They spent most of their free time together, laughed together, and drank together –all signs of close brotherhood.

But he'd never seen friends injure friends in such a manner.

It was… confusing.


End file.
